


Rabbit Hearted

by eatsdeath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Harry Potter, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Past Sexual Assault, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatsdeath/pseuds/eatsdeath
Summary: Whatever you do in life is a gift and every gift comes with a price.After the death of his Godfather, Harry is ready to shed his lion skin and become the snake he has been in secret.  He has always had a plan.
Relationships: Fenrir Greyback/Harry Potter, Tom Riddle/Severus Snape
Comments: 64
Kudos: 788





	1. Chapter 1

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

This, of course, held true to their neighbors and friends, and it was all very believable. Now that nephew of theirs was a different story. He'd been strange growing up - quiet, thin, sneaky, and a little off. Things always happened around him that unsettled the good uprightly folk of Little Whinging. They had breathed a sigh of relief when the Dursley's shipped him off to that boarding school of his, and now he only came around for two months in the summer. St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, it was called, where, hopefully, the boy would be straightened out. 

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, the upstanding citizens that they are, are the heroes of our story. Having taken in the orphaned son of Mrs. Dursley's sister after she and her husband had died in that car wreck. Drinking and driving, it was no wonder the boy had turned out as he had. Like father, like son. They could have left the boy at an orphanage or on the streets of London but alas. The Dursley's gave him a home, a place to eat and sleep and be safe. And how had he repaid them? By accusing them of horrible things, saying they didn't feed him, they locked him away; they hurt him. Well, who wouldn't ground a child like that? Saying things like that when he'd just been bruised roughhousing with his cousin. Vicious lies, every single one of them.

All that being said, the two months that Potter boy was at the Dursley's in the summer? Anyone and everyone in the suburb ignores his existence—everyone except, of course, the dear family that houses him and Ickle Diddykins' gang. By now, Harry Potter was used to being invisible to all but those who would hurt him. He was left alone with his list of chores for 85% of everyday. That last 15%—was hell on earth, which fifteen, almost sixteen-year-old Harry was also extremely used to. But this summer was about to get oh so very much worse.

Harry had been home (which, in and of itself, is a very loose term) for a week now following his fifth year. OWLS year, Umbridge and the Ministry and the Daily Prophet keeping everyone convinced he was either attention-seeking or insane (or both) and the attack at the Department of Mysteries...Sirius. His emotions vacillate wildly between completely apathetic and numb, fierce burning pain and frozen ice-cold rage. 

He blames himself, of course, he does, and there are days where he can't breathe, lungs and chest aching with self-loathing. There are also days where the blame lies elsewhere. Dumbledore: for keeping him in the dark and ignoring him all year, for not telling him the real reason he needed to learn Occlumency, for keeping Sirius locked up in that dark, disgusting house, for prohibiting anyone from writing him the summer before. Snape: for clinging so desperately to childhood grudges, for not trying to teach him Occlumency, for being an all-around bloody, prickly fucking git. Ron and Hermione and the Order: for following and doing what they're told blindly without thinking for themselves.

Harry had learned early in life that you couldn't trust adults, and that had only been reinforced when he'd reached Hogwarts. He should have known better: Ron, with parents and family so loyal to Dumbledore and Hermione, rule-follower to lengths of absurdity. They may be his friends, but they would never step outside the bounds set by the Headmaster. Which, Harry knows, is precisely the reason he hasn't received any letters in the week he's been back at the Dursley's either. Just like last summer. He wonders idly how long it would take for them to notice if he kills himself. 

He had entertained the idea last summer: isolated, terrified, alone. But loyalty and love for his godfather had won out in the end; he wouldn't leave Sirius like that. This summer, though, he has no one, and Harry knows it. 

Summer after his first year, Harry had never intended to tell the Dursley's he wasn't allowed to use magic outside of school. Of course, we all know how that turned out: a mail stealing house-elf hovering and dropping a dessert on Vernon's boss and his wife, combined with the following letter from the Ministry of Magic, had let the Dursley's know everything they had needed to. 

The same held true this summer. Harry had absolutely no intention of informing his relatives that his mass-murdering godfather had died. Not that he would be able even to say Sirius’ name, but why on earth would he remove that threat from above their heads? The threat that had kept him mostly safe from Vernon and Petunia since the summer after third year. The mere idea of his godfather had kept him safe last summer, even after the events of the Weasley pick up for the Quidditch World Cup. Dudley was a different matter because as much as Petunia had tried to keep him away from Harry, the boy was as pigheaded as he was blubberous when it came to pummeling Harry. But the choice, as always it seems, has been taken from him.

The ringing of the doorbell cuts through the house and the noise of whatever television program the Dursley's are watching after dinner while Harry washes the dishes. It's a surprise for everyone; there's a moment when none of them react before Vernon barks, "Boy, get the door." 

Harry knows he's only allowed to answer the door because he has no visible bruises. He mutters some kind of affirmative response and opens the door to another surprise. Standing on the Dursley's front stoop is someone he'd never really expected to be on Privet Drive.

"Professor?" 

The teen can't prevent the confused word from escaping him because he'd never in a million years have expected Dumbledore to deign to come to the Dursley's house for any reason. 

"What are you doing here?"

Harry can, however, stop the flood of questions and accusations that otherwise want to burst out of him because he knows - oh how he knows - he will never get a clear answer. The Headmaster of Hogwarts smiles warmly at him, blue eyes twinkling happily.

"Ah, Harry, my boy. I'm glad you're doing well. I'm here to have a word with your relatives if they have a moment."

"Who's at the door? Invite them in or send them away, Potter."

Vernon's voice cuts through any response Harry may have had, and he steps back into the hallway to let the professor into the house.

"They're in the living room, Professor."

Dumbledore nods, smile not leaving his face, and he trods down the foyer and into the room, while Harry lingers in the doorway. Petunia goes white, and Vernon immediately starts getting up from his chair.

"Now you see here; we won't have any more of you freaks in this house. Leave. NOW."

Dumbledore doesn't react beyond raising his hand in a nonthreatening manner, a small smile on his face as he looks at Vernon, "Now, now, my dear Mr. Dursley. I just wanted to check in with you all. Make sure that everyone's summer goes... smoothly."

Vernon's face starts purpling, voice rising in volume.

"You just wait a minute, freak. Don't you threaten us. The boy is fed, he's clean, and he has a place to sleep. He's fine; we're fine. Now, GET OUT!" The last is shouted in the old wizard's face, spittle flying from his mouth as his beady eyes narrow fiercely. 

Harry hopes against hope that Dumbledore is there to take him to Headquarters, to Hogwarts. He would happily be anywhere, would rather be literally anywhere else than at Privet Drive, including wherever Voldemort is. Maybe the Headmaster sees that what he did last summer hadn't been the best way to handle everything.

"Mr. Dursley, I had no intention of threatening you. I just wished to make sure that you weren't having any issues with Harry's temper. He destroyed my office at the end of term, you know."

And Harry's hopes are dashed to the ground as he stares at the old man. He's pretty sure his face matches the jaw-dropped, dumbstruck looks on the Dursley's faces because what the fuck? But Dumbledore wasn't done, it seemed.

"Anger is a natural reaction, of course, to loss. And I can only imagine how hard it has been for him, what with the death of his godfather last month." He was dead. Harry was so dead. "I just couldn't, in good conscience, let you deal with that without making sure it was handled, you see." 

That terrible numb feeling spread through Harry's chest chased the gnawing feeling of betrayal away. Wide green eyes flew to his Uncle's face, and he watched the realization dawn upon him.

"His godfather - the mass murderer? He's dead?"

"Yes. Well, but he was innocent, of course. Murdered by his cousin, you see. I just wanted to make sure that you understood: we know how emotional Mr. Potter may be this summer and wanted to impress upon you that you wouldn't be the first he's lashed out at. That no one will find fault in how you approach his grief and how it affects his actions this summer." 

No, he was wrong. This wasn't betrayal. This was an acknowledgment of his treatment at the hands of his relatives, as well as what felt like a subtle green light for continuing said treatment. Only if the Dursley's were smart enough to see it, which Petunia was judging by the slight widening of her eyes that Harry tracked to her face. Oh, he was fucked, but if he survived the summer, Harry was going to kill Dumbledore himself.

The tense atmosphere in number four Privet Drive only increases as the Headmaster wishes them a pleasant evening with a warm smile and a twinkle in cold, cold blue eyes. Harry isn't sure he’s breathing, tense as he is waiting for some kind of reaction from his relatives. The color gathering on Vernon’s face is terrifying. Petunia’s eyes are still wide, but a tint of smug satisfaction rises in them. Dudley - as ever - doesn't notice a thing, too wrapped up in what's playing on the telly.

More than ever, Harry's grateful for the mokeskin pouch around his neck—a fifteenth birthday present from Sirius and tonight he’s glad he’d put all his essential belongings in it: his wand, Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder’s Map, the photo album Hagrid had given him at the end of first year, his letter from Gringott's informing him of the reading of Sirius' will and a request to see him. Harry knows that the Dursley's wouldn't be able to destroy his trunk if he had to leave it, but he'd had plans. Plans that hadn't included the Headmaster's specific brand of bloody meddling. Plans that covered all his bases when it came to escaping Privet Drive and the care of his lovely relatives as soon as absolutely possible—as soon as he'd recovered enough from his annual welcome-back beating to run.

Now, all that planning has been for nothing. Because now Harry would have to escape his enraged Uncle first. Harry knows he has to get back upstairs before he can do anything; he has to get Hedwig. He can't Apparate because he doesn't know how; he can't call the Knight Bus because to get out to the curb, he'd have to get past Vernon who would, no doubt, follow him up the stairs.

Harry thinks as fast as he can before he bolts, and when he runs, he has a complete plan. He hears Vernon's roar of anger as he sprints down the front hall and up the stairs. Hears the thunder of his footsteps as he gives chase. Harry slams the door to his room shut behind him - not that it'll stop Vernon, but he'll have to stop and turn the knob and, hopefully, Harry will be gone by the time he gets in. 

"Kreacher!"

The old house-elf pops into view, glaring when he lays eyes on Harry, "No, no, no, no. Kreacher won’t, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won’t!" croaked the house-elf, quite as loudly as Uncle Vernon, stamping his long, gnarled feet and pulling his ears. "Kreacher belongs to Miss Bellatrix, oh yes, Kreacher belongs to the Blacks, Kreacher wants his new mistress, Kreacher won't go to the Potter brat, Kreacher won't, won't, won’t —"

"Kreacher, shut up!" Harry snaps as he grabs Hedwig's cage, ignoring her glare and the angry-sounding hoot as he jostles her. He rounds on the now silent house-elf and glares back just as forcefully. "Take me to Lady Narcissa Malfoy now. She's a Black, right? Take me to Malfoy Manor now, and I might leave you with her."

He holds out his empty hand towards Kreacher, who is eyeing him thoughtfully or what Harry, at least, assumes is thoughtfully. The door to his bedroom bursts open and the three occupants look to Vernon, who comes to the most abrupt halt of his life. As Kreacher takes Harry's hand, Vernon is stunned back into movement, but before he's even taken two steps into the room, the elf speaks. "Yes, little Master Potter, I take yous to Mistress Malfoy Black."

The pop of their leaving is drowned out by Vernon's shout of Harry's name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long!! Honestly, I'm not happy with it. It's weird but oh well. The beginning of this year was crazy and then COVID and quarantine and THEN I had work because I was "essential." Ugh, now I'm working a different job and doing online classes so that's a whole different experience but here's the next chapter for you guys. Hopefully, it won't take me 9 months to update again!
> 
> I plan on updating my fics every 2 weeks - this one on Fridays. so after this chapter the next one will come on November 27th!

Their arrival at Malfoy Manor is louder than their departure from Number Four because Harry collapses in a heap on the ground, stomach rolling and his ability to breathe impaired by the broken rib shifting in his side. He takes as deep a breath as he dares before pulling himself to his feet with much effort. Kreacher looks at Harry disdainfully, a sneer on his wrinkled old face. A small elf, younger than Kreacher by many years, pops into the receiving room to greet them. 

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor. Who is yous being?”

Harry breathes, but it does nothing to relieve the pain in his side.

“Harry Potter to see Lady Malfoy, please.”

He’s not sure how well  _ that _ is going to go as an introduction, especially if Lady Malfoy has guests or is with her son, but it’s out of his hands and all he can do is wait as the elf disappears. Harry leans against the wall gingerly, trying to ease the pain he’s feeling by taking pressure off of his middle. It doesn’t help much, he reflects, as he lets his eyes close. Nothing short of healing his ribs will, but there’s not much he can do about that. He’s still underage and can’t use magic outside of school. If things go well here, maybe Lady Malfoy would heal him. Otherwise, Harry would just wait for the bones to mend themselves and hope they won’t pierce his lungs while they do. He’s quite used to healing on his own; he’d done it for his entire childhood because there was no way the Dursleys would take him to the hospital for injuries  _ they _ caused. 

He startles when the elf reappears but only enough to tense before it speaks,

“Missy be taking yous and your elf to Missus Malfoy now.”

Harry nods and follows Missy out the door with Kreacher falling into step behind him. The hallways of Malfoy Manor are as elegant as he’d imagined they would be. Bright whites and charcoal grays with gold filigree laid into the marble floors lay the path in front of them. Portraits of long-deceased Malfoys look down their noses at him. Harry knows he’s not much to look at. Too skinny, too short: he looks ever so slightly out of proportion. He should have been taller, much taller than his malnourished five foot 5. Another sin to lie on the bodies of the Dursleys. 

He pulls up short when they reach a wide doorway and Missy stops to push them open.

“Harry Potter and Elf, Missus Malfoy, Master Snape.”

Harry’s heart jumps in his chest.  _ Shit _ , he wasn’t expecting Snape to be there. He should have. The Potions Master is a friend of the Malfoy family and godfather to Draco. Harry should have at least  _ considered _ that he’d be there. No going back now though, the elf had already introduced him. Snape already knew he was there. Ideally, he’d be able to convince the spy to not rat him out to the Headmaster but Harry doesn’t have high hopes. He sighs but enters the room.

He bows slightly, his head the only part of him that actually bends and accepts the hand Lady Malfoy offers him to brush his lips across the air above the back of her hand. Harry knows she is staring him down with eyes that are too much like Sirius’ for him to look at even as she bids him to sit in the chair across from the couch she shares with Snape. 

“Mr. Potter.” Harry’s eyes fly to his professor, who is observing him without a hint of emotion on his face. “May I introduce Narcissa Malfoy, Lady of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy.” Snape’s eyes don’t leave his face even as he addresses Lady Malfoy instead. “Narcissa, meet Harry Potter.”

The woman’s eyes are sharp as she eyes Harry, who does his best to keep his spine straight and keep his trepidation off of his face. They look at everything from the messy tousle of his hair to the ripped, baggy jeans he’s wearing, from the dark bruise around his right eye and cheekbone to the slight tremble in his hands. 

“Just Harry Potter?” Her eyes flick to Snape. “As the last of his line, he should be introduced as  _ Heir _ to the House of Potter, should he not?” 

Snape stares at Harry, who can’t meet his eyes and instead leaves his gaze at his professor’s jaw. “To the best of my knowledge, the boy has not yet claimed his Heirship, Narcissa.”

She sniffs, no doubt disgusted at his lack of pureblooded propriety. Harry can’t bring himself to disagree. He knows that as the last Potter, he should have been given the Potter Heir ring when he went to Gringotts at eleven. He knows he should have been given his Lordship ring the previous summer, as participating in the Triwizard Tournament had magically declared him an adult. Harry is not as ignorant as he appears. Sirius had taught him some pureblood customs before he’d — in the last two years. He has plans to remedy that, which is why he’s here. He speaks up before she can say anything, though.

“That would be why I am here, Lady Malfoy. I need — I would like to ask for your assistance in that regard.” 

“And how can I help you, Mr. Potter?”

Harry clears his throat nervously, eyes flicking off to Snape before he looks Narcissa dead in the eye.

“I need either an escort to my godfather’s will reading or someone who would be willing to take me to Gringotts  _ before _ said will reading. I also do not know how long I have before that as I don’t know when the will reading is.” 

She looks surprised briefly before all emotion disappears again from her face.

“You don’t know when my cousin’s will reading is? It is our assumption that most, if not all, of the Black Estate has been willed to you as his godson and, likely, his Heir.”

“That may be true, Lady Malfoy,” Harry relaxes ever so slightly. “However, I would imagine the Headmaster has no intentions of my going to Sirius’ will reading. Let alone informing me of anything that Sirius bequeathed to me.” 

The silence that follows his words is heavy, and he can see both the horror in Mrs. Malfoy’s eyes and the intrigue in Professor Snape’s. It is his professor that speaks to break the quiet.

“And why pray tell, Mr. Potter, would you think that?”

“Because he should have told me when I was eleven that I was the Potter Heir. He should have sent an actual wizard to fetch me from my relatives, not a half-giant expelled after three years of schooling. As my Magical Guardian, he should have placed me with any of my magical relatives over my mother’s muggle sister. He should have withdrawn me from the Triwizard Tournament, and he should  **_not_ ** have stolen from me in significant amounts before, or after, I learned that magic was real.”

Harry really should carry a camera with how often he’s able to shock the pureblooded mask off of their faces. He doesn’t know which expression he finds more entertaining — Professor Snape’s obvious rage or Lady Malfoy’s completely pale and horrified expression. He shouldn’t be surprised. To deprive a magical child of their proper upbringing and inheritance by placing them with muggles is all but unheard of and more maintain withholding such things after they’ve entered the Wizarding World is despicable. 

* * *

Narcissa doesn't understand the things she’s hearing. Not that she doesn't believe the boy, more so she cannot wrap her mind around someone keeping an inheritance from a magical child. Him being Boy-Who-Lived makes it so much worse. A child that has had stories told about him since the Dark Lord's first defeat who is almost sixteen years old and the last of a prominent magical line. It's definitely something that Dumbledore would do, especially if he was the boy’s Magical Guardian. That gives him power over the boy’s inheritance until he comes of age. 

Just as she's about to speak, to reassure Potter that she’d do everything in her power to help him, Severus swears. Loudly and vulgarly. 

“That mother-fucking, meddling old bloody son of a whore! Petunia? You grew up with Tuney? She’s an awful, jealous horse of a bitch.”

Potter’s eyes are wide and slightly glazed with something her maternal instinct is telling her is fear. Narcissa lays a hand on Severus’ arm, drawing his attention from his anger at the Headmaster. 

“Easy, Severus. You’re frightening the boy.”

He is and when he looks at Potter, Narcissa knows Severus recognizes the look on his face for what it is. Terror and a terror learned at a hard hand. She recognizes it because of Severus and Severus recognizes it because he once wore the same look. Narcissa knows that Severus just lost any lingering hope he’d had in Dumbledore, not that he’d had much. But she knows he couldn’t help but feel  _ some _ belief in the man who’d kept him from Azkaban. 

“Mr. Potter,” She turns back to Potter and waits for his eyes to refocus and look at her. “I have no problems accompanying you to Gringotts and as I have not yet received a summons for my cousin’s will reading, we shall bring that up with the goblins while we are there if that is alright with you?”

The boy nods slowly before shaking his head like he’s clearing water from his ears, then he nods once again, more certain than the first time.

“Yes, ma’am, I would appreciate that. Sirius taught me some pureblood etiquette, but I know I have more learning to do. If you could keep me from offending the goblins, I would be very grateful.” 

“Of course, you are my cousin’s godson and, if I remember correctly, my great-aunt is your grandmother. You are family either way.”

The men both stare at her and Narcissa nods.

“Yes, Dorea Potter nee Black is — was — my grandfather’s youngest sister.”

Harry’s face is still blank and Narcissa feels her heart twist.

“Your father’s mother, dear.”

His face colors and he looks down at his lap. Narcissa realizes he’s been more neglected than he’d shown. No one taught him his family, not even her cousin. She supposes it hadn’t been the most important, considering the whole of the Potter family was dead. The poor boy had no family left.  _ Well, _ she supposes,  _ I will just have to be that family.  _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - done! Here we go!
> 
> I hope all my fellow American friends were safe yesterday and are still being safe today. Don't be stupid. Wash your hands; wear a mask. Maybe don't? Go Black Friday shopping.
> 
> Anyway I plan on updating my fics every 2 weeks - this one on Fridays. so after this the next chapter will come on December 11th!

Decision made, Narcissa snaps her fingers to call for her elf back to them. Missy appears almost silently and waits for instruction.

“Missy, prepare a guest bedroom for me.” She looks at Harry. “Near Severus’. The blue room will do nicely, I think.”

“Missy be doing that, Missus.”

She bows but before she disappears (and before shock and confusion clear from Severus’ and Harry’s faces) Narcissa asks,

“Where is my son today, Missy?”

“Master Draco bes still at the Zabinises Manor, Missus.”

Narcissa nods and dismisses the elf with a wave of her hand, turning back to Harry.

“You are, of course, welcome to stay here until we are able to go to Gringotts. However, I think we should first heal that bruise on your face as well as any other injuries you may have, Mr. Potter.”

Harry bows his head again. When he replies, his voice is no more than a whisper.

“Thank you, Lady Malfoy.”

He knows better than to try to hide injuries from a healer of any kind. It’s like they can _smell_ them on him and Harry knows that Narcissa has Healer training, even if she never became a full Healer. That much, Sirius had taught him. For all that he hated and was estranged from his family, his godfather had been fond of his brother and his cousins. He twists his lips, not lifting his head to look at her.

“I know at least one of my ribs is broken but more than that,” He shrugs. It hurts but he’s used to it. “Things should be at least partially healed. They happened when I first got home from term. Except for my face.” Harry’s no longer ashamed of his treatment at home. He knows it’s not how _family_ is supposed to treat each other and he knows none of it is his fault but he still doesn’t want it broadcast to everyone.

Narcissa and Severus share a glance as she pulls out her wand and he pulls out the kit of potions he keeps on him at all times. Potter doesn’t react to have a wand pointed at him, doesn’t seem to realize it’s happened already. The adults watch in numb horror at the scroll that appears at the end of her wand. It is at least twice as thick as Draco’s and likely closer to Severus’ own as it is now. How does an almost sixteen-year-old have the medical history of a thirty-six-year-old abuse survivor and spy? Narcissa clears her throat as she finds the bottom without looking through the rest. There will be time for that later. It’s best to focus on what needs to be healed right this moment rather than the past. 

“You are correct, Mr. Potter, and also understated. You have 5 partially healed broken ribs and a fractured cheekbone. Then there’s the lacerations on your back as well as many bruises. But, nothing to worry about. Severus and I can have you fixed up promptly.”

She waits for him to nod before turning to Severus who pulls the necessary potions from his kit. He offers the first to Harry who takes it hesitantly.

“This is an antibiotic and immune booster. To clear up anything that has gotten into your system since your injuries occurred.”

Harry nods and downs it with only a small grimace. Severus hesitates before speaking again.

“To heal the lacerations, I will need to see them. Depending on how deep they are, they may need to be closed individually. We will need to see them before Narcissa heals the broken skin.” He hesitates again, very aware the boy still hasn’t looked back up at them. “Then we can deal with the broken ribs. Your cheekbone, as well. You will need to be flat on your back for the ribs so the lacerations need to be healed first.”

What he doesn’t tell Harry yet is that in order to have Skelegrow to mend the broken bones, he can’t have a pain reliever for at least twelve hours. The Skelegrow must be out of his system before he can safely take a pain reliever. He looks at Narcissa who is looking at Harry sadly; she nods.

“Missy should be finished with your room, Mr. Potter, so if you will follow me. We can go ahead and get you all healed up.”

She stands, waits for the males to do the same before sweeping out of the room. Narcissa knows without looking behind her that Severus is lurking over Harry’s shoulder as the boy stands and starts to follow. She also knows her long time friend is berating himself for missing whatever signs that Harry had as terrible a childhood as he had. She fingers the large scroll that’s tucked in her sleeve and tells herself she will have to look at it. In order to heal the boy completely, efficiently and well, she will have to read his entire history. Neither Potter nor Evans had been as short in stature as their son and Narcissa knows when she looks she will find long-term malnourishment in his childhood. Surely someone had noticed before now, right? The muggles who lived around him in his childhood. A professor at the school. The headmaster who watches him so closely, according to her son. Someone knew. And when she finds out who and for how long, there will be hell to pay. But hell hath no fury like a Black.

* * *

Harry follows Lady Malfoy as slow as he can without losing sight of her. He is _terrifyingly_ aware of Snape looming behind him, herding him towards the blue room. Harry’s fingers twist nervously in the hem of his overly large shirt, eyes glued to the floor right behind Narcissa’s heels. He really doesn’t want to take his shirt and glamor off in front of his professor and Malfoy’s mum. The only thing that would be worse would be taking his shirt off in front of _Malfoy_ because Merlin knows how much that boy hates him. He’s never taken his glamor off in front of anyone besides Poppy and for Mrs. Malfoy to heal the most recent belt lashes, he knows she has to see where the others have already scarred because healing scars on top of scar tissue is something he and Poppy have been working through for years. Because Harry never let her ask Professor Snape for something to heal and remove the scars he’s already covered with.

He only pauses in the doorway to what is to be his room long enough to lift his eyes from the floor and take a brief glance around. Then he becomes acutely aware of Snape behind him so Harry forces himself to go in and stand by the bed to wait for more instructions. It’s not that he doesn’t want to do this, it’s that he _absolutely_ doesn’t want to do this. But Harry knows he has to be healed and figures they already know, so there is no way he’s getting out of this. He misses the glance the adults share over his head before Narcissa sighs.

“Alright, dear. Why don’t you go ahead and take your shirt off and, if you think you can, lay down on your front for me on the bed.” 

Harry hesitates just for a second before replying,

“I can lay down, Mrs. Malfoy. I’m used to it.”

He drops the glamor he’s been using to cover his scars since he was eleven years old and strips out of his shirt before clambering awkwardly into the too soft bed. Harry gently buries his face in the pillow just so he doesn’t try to look at either of the others so there’s no chance of him catching the pity on their faces. He wouldn’t be able to keep it together if he did. 

It takes all of Narcissa’s Healer training not to suck in a breath as the boy takes his shirt off and reveals the scars that _cover_ his back as well as a fair bit of his chest, that she saw. Her sad gaze raises Severus’ pale face and she places a gentle hand on his shoulder. The deep breath he takes in calms him and helps her center herself.

“I think, Mr. Potter, I would love for you to call me Narcissa.”

The boy nods his head in the pillow and she can only imagine how that hurts.

“You can call me Harry, ma’am.”

She gives the back of his head a kind smile.

“I would love to, Harry.” Narcissa takes another breath and draws her wand again. She conjures a bowl of lukewarm antiseptic water and a soft washcloth. “Alright, dear, I’m going rinse your back with some lightly warmed water just to make sure everything is cleaned up before I start. Try not to move too much, I don’t want to reopen anything.” 

Wiping down Harry’s back is one of the harder things Narcissa has had to do in her life. The most recent lash marks overlay many healed and deeply scared lacerations and she can see the faint outline of the word ‘ _FREAK_ ’ carved near the base of his spine, letters deep and jagged and surely still so painful. Once she’s done with that she looks at Severus.

“Ok, Harry, Severus and I are going to have to close these before we can give you a general healing potion. Severus, a healing chant, I think, will work best. If you will start at his hips, I will start at his shoulders.”

Narcissa receives a nod as Severus draws his wand and steps up to the other side of the bed. The low murmur of his voice rings with power as he casts his first _vulnera_ _sanentur_ at the base of Harry’s spine. A powerful healing spell, one that he himself had invented as a student. One that she is relieved to know faced with the breadth of Harry’s injuries and she turns her focus to the lash marks across the boy’s shoulders.

For nearly ten minutes, the only sounds in the room are the low ringing of their voices as they work together to heal Harry. The longer they work, the more Narcissa notices the young man relaxes into the bed. She can only hope he gets some rest as she knows he won’t be able to have a pain reliever until morning. With the last of their incantations, magic stands heavy in the air and Narcissa can feel sweat beading at the base of her neck. She takes a deep breath and looks up to check on Severus, who looks just as shaken as she feels. Narcissa cards a gentle hand through Harry’s hair and the boy doesn’t stir. She sighs in relief.

“He’s asleep or unconscious. Do you think it’ll be alright if we spell the Skelegrow into him now? Instead of waiting for him to wake up. I’m almost certain he needs as much rest as he can get.”

Severus nods and collapses into the chair besides the bed.

“That will be fine.” He retrieves the necessary potion from his kit and allows her to spell it into Harry’s stomach. With 5 broken ribs and a fractured cheekbone, the potion should take almost eleven hours to work and even then, the boy would be sore for another day or so. 

“Narcissa,” His voice is hoarse and shaken. “How did I not notice? The length of his medical history, it _has_ to go back to his childhood. He’s been my student for five years and I noticed **_nothing_**. Was it willful? Did I delude myself into believing everything Albus told me about him that I ignored what my eyes should have told me? How could I do such a thing?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four! 
> 
> Anyway I plan on updating my fics every 2 weeks - this one on Fridays. So after this the next chapter will come on December 25th, just in time for Christmas (if you celebrate)!

Narcissa considers them lucky that the Dark Lord remains away for the night. He had all but moved into Malfoy Manor that summer — punishment, no doubt, for Lucius getting caught at the Ministry of Magic in June — and she knows He has plans to Mark her son before he goes back to Hogwarts. Having Harry Potter in her house will only make things worse for them should anything go wrong but she could not — would not — turn her cousin’s Heir away. She was a Malfoy by marriage and name but Narcissa was a _Black_ by blood. Family came first, even if that family took the form of the half-blooded Boy-Who-Lived. 

Draco comes home but goes straight to his room and doesn’t speak to her. She had hoped he would come to her once he accepts that his father is in Azkaban but it hasn’t happened yet and Narcissa knows she needs to talk to him soon. If she puts it off for too long, it will only go badly. Now that Potter is here, things are even more complicated.

Narcissa has no idea what possessed the boy to come to her. Why he’d thought she wouldn’t hand him over to the Dark Lord the moment he set foot in the Manor. Not given him the chance to speak about her cousin and washed her hands of him. She hopes he wakes before the Dark Lord returns because she knows she will not have the ability to stop him from killing the boy should he learn Potter was here.

Severus hasn’t left the boy’s bedside since he passed out the evening before she knows because he hasn’t come down for breakfast yet and he ignored the elf she had sent to fetch him. Instead, she and her son eat in silence. Narcissa is sure Draco doesn’t even know his godfather is in their home. 

“Mother, Blaise and his mother are heading to the continent for the weekend. He asked if I would like to come with them. I do wish to go but I also do not want to leave you here alone, considering our house guest.”

Narcissa looks up into blue-gray eyes that are so like his father’s and smiles gently at her son. 

“Severus expressed an interest in visiting the Manor for the next week or so. The Headmaster has finally released the staff for the holiday and I’ve assured your godfather he is more than welcome to stay. Go with the Zabini’s. I will be fine, Dragon.”

Draco’s eyes are worried even as he nods his head.

“If you are sure, Mother.”

“I am, darling. Now, why don’t you Floo Blaise and let him know that you intend to join them? Then go pack a bag, alright?”

“Yes, Mother.” Draco kisses her on the cheek before leaving the dining room and Narcissa sighs. She is happy that while Draco is out of the Manor, he is also out of the Dark Lord’s reach but when he’s not there, she misses him. And she misses his father. For all his faults, she does love Lucius and his absence weighs on her greatly. She slowly finishes her breakfast and calls for an elf to clean up before she makes her way to the sitting room, where she knows Draco will leave from when he’s ready. Harry and Severus can wait for him to leave baring Harry waking up before they’re ready for him. Narcissa settles on the couch with a small book and plans to read in the quiet until Draco heads to Elladora’s.

* * *

Severus woke with a stiff back and aches down his legs slouched in the chair by Potter’s bedside. Narcissa had left him there the night before instead of trying to draw him away not that he would have gone. Neither of them had looked further at Potter’s medical history and he eyes it where it lies on the bedside table. He wants to know and he wants to know _how much_ Albus had known. How much the boy told him. If things were as awful as he feared they were being brought up by Petunia and her husband. Severus hadn’t attended Lily and Potter’s wedding but he’d heard stories in regards to Black’s behavior and Petunia’s husband. He knew the muggles had left early, angry and humiliated and he fears they had done the same to Potter as he had — projected the sins of the father and godfather onto the shoulders of an innocent child. 

He ignores the elf that tries to get him downstairs for breakfast and orders it to fetch him coffee instead; Severus has no plans to leave his place until Potter wakes up. Then all of them will speak and make further plans. Like getting the boy to Gringotts and keeping him alive under the nose of the Dark Lord without being killed themselves. Merlin, what had they gotten themselves into? He rubs at the bridge of his nose and downs a large sip of his still steaming beverage. He bites down the hiss that tries to escape as he burns the roof of his mouth and swears under his breath. Severus’ eyes fly open at the small laugh that emits from the bed and he looks at the boy who is still on his front but has turned his head to the side. To look right at Severus.

“Morning, Professor.” The laughter is still evident in his voice even if Potter tries to squash it as he gets comfortable. Severus rolls his eyes.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter.” He leans to place his coffee on the table and rests his elbows on his knees. “How are you feeling?”

The green eyes shift like the boy wants to look away from Severus but won’t let himself. “‘m alright. A bit sore, maybe? Nauseous, definitely. Did you spell Skelegrow in me?” He shakes his head. “Poppy loves to do that. Always makes me nauseous.”

“And does Madam Pomfrey know you call her by her given name?”

“Course she does — practically forced me to call her Poppy. Won’t accept anything else, I’m there so much. And she’s been trying to fix my childhood malnourishment. Lots of potions.” 

Severus is shocked. He knew the boy was in and out of the Hospital Wing but for Poppy to give a student the right to use her name was something he’d never heard of her doing in all his years at Hogwarts. 

“Alright. Yes, we spelled the Skelegrow into your stomach because you either fell asleep or passed out while we worked on healing your back. The scars remain but they can be removed should you wish it. Though, that should wait until any other injuries are healed as it will be mostly cosmetic and will take quite a long time with the amount of scars that you have.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause where neither of them speak before Severus shakes himself out of contemplation.

“Will you mind if I cast another diagnostic on you? This one is not as in-depth but, rather, will tell Narcissa and I what may need another look. As well as check the amount of Skelegrow still in your system as you cannot have a pain reliever until it is gone and food is…not recommended.” 

The boy just nods and closes his eyes again, relaxing against the pillow. Like he has nothing at all to fear being on the end of Severus’ wand and Severus wonders when that happened. Just weeks ago Potter had been angry and spitting fire, glaring at Severus whenever they had the misfortune of crossing paths. Unless… No. There was no way the boy was _that_ good of an actor. Severus waves his wand and collects the parchment from the tip. He gives a sharp nod as he reads it over.

“Well, Mr. Potter, it seems you are healing as you should and you show no signs of infection. Your ribs should be fully mended within the next hour.” He pulls a pain relief potion from one of his many pockets and offers it to the boy. “Pain reliever — just a level one for right now. If any pain gets worse, let Narcissa or I know immediately and I _do mean_ immediately, Mr. Potter.” 

Before Harry can down the potion, the door to the bedroom opens and Severus has his wand pointed at it faster than Narcissa can blink. She cocks an eyebrow and closes the door behind her again as she steps through.

“Now, now, Severus. Put that away before you hurt somebody.” She smiles at Harry as he swallows the potion and comes to stand beside Severus’ chair. “How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Potter?”

Harry reddens and presses his face into his pillow with another laugh which Severus is sure is caused by the look on his face at being chastised like a child over his wand of all things. Narcissa looks smug at seeing the boy act like the teenager he is because they had not seen it last night. He looks back at them both, still grinning a bit.

“I feel good, Mrs. Malfoy, but please, both of you can call me Harry. I’d appreciate it a lot. Mr. Potter makes me feel like I’m in trouble…or my father.” His speech slows as he reaches the end of his sentence and very pointedly does not look at Severus, who feels a brief burst of shame and anger but doesn’t respond. He merely nods while Narcissa smiles gently.

“Harry, it is then. Call me Narcissa, dear.”

“You said that Poppy has been treating your malnourishment with potions? Does she have you on a basic nutrient potion or Stinchcombe’s Remedy?”

“Neither, Professor. I’m taking an Echinacea tincture for my immunity issues and Crystal Tears for the malnourishment.” 

Severus nods sharply. 

“Outside of school, you may call me Severus. Harry.”

He can’t bring himself to enjoy the shock on the boys face as he stands and sweeps from the room, robes billowing behind him in a familiar way. He stalks almost at a run towards the well-stocked potions lab the Malfoy’s keep, wards the door behind him before all but collapsing against it. _Crystal Tears_ , for Salazar’s sake! He doesn’t need to ask where Poppy was getting it because _he_ had been brewing it for her and receiving payment from a third party since Harry’s second year. Severus had thought the potion was for one of her private patients, one recommended by St. Mungo’s. One of his own students!

* * *

Harry watches Snape leave with wide eyes before turning to Narcissa, confusion written all over his face.

“What did I do?”

The woman sighs and seats herself primly in the chair Severus had abandoned.

“You did nothing, dear. I doubt Severus would have predicted you were on a potion as strong as Crystal Tears. Surely, Madam Pomfrey has told you that it is a much more potent healing potion than the others?” 

Harry nods, still confused. Had they not looked at his medical history after he’d fallen asleep? _That_ blasted parchment would have told them everything they needed to know and everything he didn’t want **anyone** to know.

“Well, there are less than a handful of Potions Masters skilled enough to brew such a potion. Severus is one and, this is only an assumption, I believe he is the only one Madam Pomfrey would trust in brewing it for one of her patients.”

* * *

Harry spends most of the morning tucked away in bed under the watchful eye of Narcissa who takes the opportunity to see what all her cousin had taught him. For all that Sirius had rebelled against the family teachings, he had done a fair job instructing Harry. He knows the Old Ways (though he doesn’t practice because he’s never had the chance), has an understanding of the Wizarding agreements with the Goblins, knows the Purebloods on the Wizengamot. Harry’s table manners need more help (though she attributes that to bad raising) and his emotional control is rocky. Those are easy fixes. However, his knowledge of lineages is deplorable and she intends on supplementing that as quickly as she can.

Severus eventually comes back with another general healing potion as well as a bruise salve for Harry’s eye. Their interactions are slightly more awkward than Harry and Narcissa’s because of their history of mutual hatred but Narcissa has hopes that, as they are behaving amicably, they can move forward from that into something, at the very least, civil and polite.

Harry feels better after the bruise on his face fades and the healing potion settles the lingering aches in his bones. They all take lunch in his room since he cannot leave as they do not know when either Draco or the Dark Lord will return. And either of them running into Harry in the hallway could spell only disaster. Harry wants to tell Narcissa and Severus that Draco doesn’t scare him in the slightest and that he can more than handle Voldemort but he doesn’t want to stress them more than he already is. How can he tell they’re stressed, you ask? It’s the fact that both of the stoic nonreactive adults jump a mile in the air when a house-elf pops into the room holding a letter in its trembling hands.

“An owl bes bringing a letter for you, Missus Malfoy.”

Narcissa takes the letter, dismisses the elf and just as quickly opens the wax seal.

“From Gringotts: Sirius’ will reading is this evening.”

“And you only now received a summons for it?”

Narcissa nods, “It happens occasionally. I can only assume that someone does not wish for me to attend. I can’t imagine why.” The sarcasm in her voice is only visible as a sneer on her face. “As a Malfoy, my husband wouldn’t be able to attend without a summons of his own and I can’t imagine Draco would even wish to go, even as a male with Black blood. If anyone goes, it would just be myself. I don’t know what that old man is thinking.”

“No one understands how the man thinks, Narcissa, and he prefers it that way. Try working and living with him for twenty years; it’s amazing Trelawney is the only one who is driven to drink excessively.”

Harry has to stifle a snigger at the disgust on the potions professor’s face. Then he clears his throat.

“Narcissa, can we go to Gringotts before the reading? To make sure that Dumbledore doesn’t try to keep anything from me?”

“The Goblins won’t give the Headmaster anything that Sirius left to you.”

“But you’ll notice I didn’t get a Summons. The same way he tried to keep you from being invited; he successfully kept one from finding me. The Goblins may not give him anything but the Headmaster won’t tell me that Sirius left things for me anyway unless it suited him. Like being able to continue housing the Order of the Phoenix in the town house by…proving Sirius left it to me by having me call that blasted elf and making sure it worked. Speaking of Kreacher, where is he?”

Narcissa nods.

“I sent him to stay in the kitchens with the other elves except he is under strict instructions to go nowhere, to speak to no one in any way except for myself. Under threat of clothes.”

“Clothes would do it; Sirius threatened to behead him often enough but Kreacher would have loved that. To have his head hung along the stairs with the rest.”

Narcissa narrows her eyes at him.

“When you said townhouse, you meant the Black Townhouse in London.”

Harry nods.

“My aunt is rolling in her grave. Dumbledore’s order in her house.”

“Oh, she yells often enough. Wallburga fixed her portrait with a permanent sticking charm in the front hall. You make any noise and ‘Filth! Scum! Half-breeds! Dirtying up the house of my fathers-’ She can really go on.”

“If you feel up to it, take a shower and I’ll find you something to wear. Severus will accompany us to Gringotts in an hour.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas to those who celebrate! And a Happy New Year! Chapter Six will be up in January and have the rest of their Gringott’s visit!

They meet in the library once Harry has showered and changed. He feels almost like a real person again. For the first time in a long time, he doesn’t hurt anywhere and he’s fully clean and showered for the first time since he’d left Hogwarts. Harry’s nervous, though. Things could go badly and, knowing his luck, they probably would. Running into Order members or other people who recognize him. Either one would be terrible especially considering who his escorts were. It’s well-known fact that Snape hates him and that the Malfoy’s are dark, especially this summer since Lucius Malfoy had been arrested for being a Death Eater.

The robes Narcissa had found for him are nicer than anything Harry has worn in his life. He doesn’t know where she got them and he definitely doesn’t want to know if he’s wearing Draco’s old robes. Because _knowing_ that and being told for sure are two different things and Harry might combust in embarrassment. He’ll have to find an opportunity to purchase more robes and things in the next few days since his are all still in the cupboard at Privet Drive. Or, he could convince his professor to get them for him. 

“Harry, dear, we’re going to Floo to Gringotts. You have Floo’d before?”

Harry grimaces. He’s terrible at Flooing — can’t ever keep his balance. But, as he doesn’t know how to apparate, he supposes he can manage so he nods.

“Yes, ma’am. May I ask though, how are we going to keep me from being recognized? Everyone knows what I look like.”

“Ah, yes.” She raises her wand and waits for him to relax his automatically tensed shoulders before giving it a wave. Harry feels the tingle of magic wash over him and she conjures a hand mirror to hand to him. He looks just different enough from himself that even Harry wouldn’t think it was him at first glance except for—

“My scar? It can’t be covered with magic; I’ve tried.”

Narcissa produces a compact which opens to reveal some kind of pale skin toned powder. 

“Madam Z’s Color Matching Face Powder. It will cover any blemish _and_ automatically match to your skin color. If that doesn’t work, I do have a muggle face powder.” She grins at him and looks mischievous and years younger. “Don’t tell anyone, boys.” Severus just rolls his eyes while Harry looks at Narcissa in shock. He doesn’t have an issue with make up; he’d just never thought of using it.

“That’s brilliant.”

“I know, dear. Let me do it for you.” She presses the powder into his forehead and Narcissa and Severus watch as it changes to match Harry’s slightly deeper skin. Despite the magic in it, Madam Z’s Color Matching Face Powder _does_ match and cover Harry’s scar. Narcissa waves her wand once more to fix the powder in place so that it doesn’t accidentally get wiped away, especially as they go through the Floo. 

* * *

Harry tumbles out of the Floo in Gringotts and collides with his potions professor who just fixes him with a _look_ before cleaning the ash off of him. They follow Narcissa as she confidently makes her way to the teller, who seems - as goblins do - less than thrilled to be faced with three humans. Narcissa glances at Harry before turning back to the goblin.

“We wish to speak to the goblin in charge of the Black Estate. I believe my will summons said Jurragg, Master Goblin.”

“The Black will reading is not until later this evening. Come back then.”

The goblin moves to dismiss her but Narcissa stands her ground and speaks again.

“Master Goblin, may your gold ever flow and your coffers never empty.”

Faced with the traditional greeting, the goblin at the podium grits his teeth.

“May your enemies tremble at your feet. How may Gringotts help you today?”

“We have need to speak to the goblin in charge of the Black Estate. Goblin Jurragg, I believe it is, Master Goblin.”

“Very well.” He gestures to a goblin standing behind him and speaks in curt Gobbledegook. “Follow Griphook; he will take you to Jurragg’s office.”

Narcissa nods her head and all three of them follow the goblin from the lobby. Harry has never been anywhere except the lobby so the goblin’s office is nothing like he expected. It’s terrifying; weapons hang on the walls (with varying dark stains that Harry tries his hardest to ignore), lanterns that don’t give off enough light for him to comfortably see. He almost immediately doesn’t like it but he knows he must remain calm and civil. The great stone desk has nothing on it which Harry supposes is supposed to discourage snooping. Narcissa sits in one of the seats and Severus waves Harry into the other one, choosing to lean against the wall instead.

A goblin that Harry can only assume is Jurragg comes in through a door that Harry can’t see and sits behind the desk; dark eyes fix on each of them in turn before he focuses on Narcissa.

“Lady Malfoy, the will reading of Sirius Black is not until this evening. You are, unfortunately, rather early.”

“I presume you’ve already looked it over, though?” Jurragg nods and Narcissa smiles politely at him. “And Harry Potter was named my cousin’s Heir?”

“If you already know the answers, Lady Malfoy, why are you asking questions?”

“Did my cousin name Harry Potter as his Heir?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did Harry not receive a will summons?”

Her response cuts through the goblin’s obvious irritation at her and Jurragg blinks at her.

“He did; I sent it out myself.”

“And if my cousin’s Heir were to have, shall we say, a mail redirection ward placed on him?”

“Then whoever placed it on him would have a lot to answer for from the Goblins. We have been trying to get in touch with Mr. Potter since his eleventh birthday. Are you saying he never received our letters?”

Narcissa looks at Harry and Jurragg does the same, following her eye line. Harry feels a burst of startlement at being included in the conversation before he speaks.

“I’ve never gotten any mail from Gringotts. Ever.”

The goblin looks scandalized and slams a hand down on a button that sits on the top of his desk. The door he’d come through opens to admit another goblin who Jurragg addresses in furious sounding Gobbledegook before scurrying back out.

“We’re fetching Ragnar, who has overseen the Potter accounts since James Potter died fifteen years ago; as well as a curse breaker to remove the ward from Mr. Potter.”

“Bill Weasley?”

Jurragg nods, not seeming to mind Harry’s question.

“William Prewitt is one of the best.”

“I know; Bill’s great.”

The door reopens to admit a goblin Harry doesn’t know, a goblin he recognizes as the one who’d taken him to his vault for the first time when he was eleven and Bill Weasley, who looks surprised to see Harry sitting there with Narcissa and Severus.

“Bill.” Harry stands and is immediately engulfed in a hug from the larger man.

“Harry.” Bill releases him just enough to pull back, hands on his shoulders and look at Harry’s face. “What are you doing here? More trouble, little brother?”

“Always, Bill. You know me.”

“I know, kiddo. My brothers miss you. They say you haven’t written.”

“I’ve been at the Dursley’s, Bill. You know I can’t.”

“Right,” Bill nods, slings his arm around Harry’s shoulders, tucking him against his side and turns to Jurragg. “Jurragg. You need a curse breaker?”

Jurragg nods.

“Mr. Potter seems to have a letter redirection ward on him. He’s never received our letters.”

“Oh.” Bill herds Harry back into his chair. “That’s an easy fix, Harry. Though, that’s an odd ward to have placed on you.”

“Unless someone doesn’t want me to know things, Bill.”

“Of course. Damn that man.” He shakes his head and crouches in front of Harry. “But, no worries, I’ll have you clear in just a minute.”

And it does only take a minute or two before Bill’s nodding his head, a few waves of his wand, some muttering under his breath and he’s done.

“There we go. The mail redirection ward is gone. But there’s something else there; I don’t know what it is, exactly - I didn’t want to mess with it more than necessary because it’s not happy I was poking around at Harry, Jurragg. He’ll need a full test done.”

Jurragg nods while Bill conjures up another chair to sit beside Harry, who he considers another brother. He doesn’t question the presence of Mrs. Malfoy or Professor Snape; he knows Harry well enough to know that he’s not worried about their company. Harry will tell him when he’s ready.

“Alright,” Jurragg regains the attention of the room. “Mr. Potter, we will need to do a full magical reading on you. This will tell us that you are who you say, which houses you are descended from, as well as if there have been any wards or magics cast upon you. Which, according to Curse Breaker Prewitt, there are. This test will identify them so that they can be removed. Do you consent to this reading?”

Harry glances first at Narcissa, who nods and then at Bill, who just smiles warmly at him.

“Yes, I do.”

“Very well.” Jurragg produces a scary looking knife and a roll of parchment from somewhere and hands them both to Bill. “Curse Breaker Prewitt, as Gringotts does not have a reading recorded for Mr. Potter, I ask you to do it. Simply for assurance that it has not been messed with. It will be almost impossible to argue its authenticity should Mr. Potter take it to a Wizarding court that way.”

Bill takes the offered materials with a nod, placing the parchment on the desk. He turns to Harry.

“Harry, the magical reading is done with blood.” Harry blanches; he knows blood is important and highly magical but the last time someone had taken his blood — Cedric had died and the Dark Lord had tortured and taunted him. As much as he has plans that include the Dark Lord, that memory was still traumatic. Bill takes his hand. “It’s three drops, okay? It will only sting and I heal it right away, alright, little brother?”

Harry nods slowly, “Alright, Bill.”

* * *

Bill Weasley does exactly as he’d told Harry he would and Severus is more than a little curious about that relationship. He hadn’t been aware that Harry had that much of a relationship with the older Weasleys. The boy looks more relaxed than he had the whole time he’d been at Malfoy Manor, even after the assurance that the Dark Lord wasn’t there. Really, Severus can’t even say that he’s ever seen the boy this relaxed which just enforces the fact that he knows next to nothing about Harry Potter. Their assumption that Dumbledore had placed the mail redirection ward on Harry was an interesting one; Severus would love to know when one of the very pro-Dumbledore Weasleys had changed his mind. Maybe the Headmaster’s fanbase wasn’t quite as large as he’d thought. Maybe he’d just grown into his own person outside of his parent’s house.

Harry lets Bill prick his finger and drip blood onto the parchment before healing him quickly and skillfully. Bill then casts the spell, in Gobbledegook, that reveals the heritage inside of the boy’s blood.

> **NAME:** Harry James Potter  
>  **BORN:** 1 August 1980
> 
> **PARENTS:**  
>  **FATHER:** James Fleamont Potter  
>  **MOTHER:** Lily Elizabeth Potter nee Evans
> 
> **GODPARENTS:**  
>  **GODFATHER:** Sirius Orion Black  
>  **GODMOTHER:** Alice Maeve Longbottom nee Fortescue
> 
> **GUARDIANS:**  
>  **MAGICAL:** Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore  
>  **MUGGLE:** Vernon Dursley and Petunia Dursley nee Evans
> 
> **INHERITANCES:  
>  **Potter   
>  Peverell  
>  Black  
>  Gryffindor  
>  Slytherin (Heir)  
>  Gaunt (Heir) 
> 
> **WARDS:  
>  ****Obedience Ward** \- cast by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore  
>  **Intelligence Suppressor** \- cast by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore  
>  **Memory Suppressor** \- cast by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore  
>  **Blood Inheritance Block** \- cast by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore
> 
> **CONTRACTS:  
>  ****Marriage Contract** \- Ginerva Weasley - signed by Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Molly Weasley and Ginerva Weasley

“Oh.” Harry stares at the results that form across the parchment. “That’s….…I mean, what? I’m the Heir of Gryffindor? How do I….Why am I Tom Riddle’s Heir?”

“Tom Riddle?” Jurragg interrupts him. “No one has heard from Tom Riddle since the 50s, Mr. Potter.”

“Tom Riddle is Lord Voldemort is Lord Gaunt is Lord Slytherin. It’s an anagram. Tom Marvolo Riddle: I am Lord Voldemort.”

All of the adults and the goblins in the room stare at Harry. Which Harry figures is fair. Not much is known about Lord Voldemort’s history before his rise to power in the 60s and 70s. He knows more about him than anyone except maybe Dumbledore but there’s no telling what Dumbledore knows really. Most who came across Voldemort didn’t survive and he was unlikely to spill all of his secrets to his minions. Harry has had the distinct pleasure of meeting him four times and two of those, Voldemort had given him his family speech. None of that, however, explains why he’s Heir to the Slytherin and Gaunt lines.

“Even if we don’t address that, I didn’t know the Potter’s are descended from Gryffindor. Peverell, yes but not Gryffindor.”

Severus adds. He is one of the very few others who knows the Dark Lord’s history. Because he was a powerful half-blood himself; he’d seen the Dark Lord as an inspiration to overcome that blood. Purebloods would have almost the opposite reaction. Bowing to a half-blood would never go over well. Bowing to the Slytherin Lord is uplifting and an honor. The more he can steer the conversation away from that the better. The less reason the Dark Lord has to kill Harry the better. Severus would have to have a conversation with the boy later and he knows Harry knows it with the way the boy is looking over his shoulder at him.

Jurragg nods. Better to address what he does know then speculate on what the Potter Heir had said.

“The Potter’s are descended from the youngest Peverell son, Ignotus. His eldest granddaughter, Iolanthe, married Linfred "the Potterer” of Stinchcombe’s eldest son, Hardwin and changed their last name to Potter. Linfred’s wife was descended from Gryffindor.” He pauses to let them absorb that. Goblins were well known for tracking the family of those they consider Friend, which Gryffindor was. They’d also gifted him his famous ruby hilted sword. “The Gaunts are descended from the eldest brother, Antioch, whose wife was a Gaunt, descended from Slytherin. Why Mr. Potter is marked as Gaunt and Slytherin Heir but Peverell Lord, I do not know. That question would have to be asked of Tom Riddle.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! I've edited the pacing of this fic SO this chapter is now completely new. It does pick up where chapter 5 left of but what is now chapter 5 used to be chapter 6. Now chapter 6 is new. So maybe go back and do a little re-read.
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ agendertonks.tumblr.com!

For what is the first time in a very long time, Narcissa has no idea what to say and she fears, if she opens her mouth, she may say something extremely unintelligent. So she says nothing.

Bill couldn't care less about Harry’s legacy. He’s Harry; he’s Bill’s little brother. End of story. For Bill, it’s the wards and suppressors placed on Harry by Dumbledore and the marriage contract with his young sister. How dare that man? Who did he think he is? What was his mother thinking?

Severus is a little surprised that Harry’s apparently Ancient bloodline basically overrides his mother’s muggle blood. But, like Bill, he is incredibly more aware of what Dumbledore had done to the boy. Harry’s ability to shake his belief in the Headmaster so thoroughly in less than twenty-four hours is astounding.

Harry, though, Harry desperately needs to have a conversation with Tom Riddle. A civil conversation with the Dark Lord Voldemort, the one who’s been trying to kill him since he was a baby? Yeah, that one. That would go over really well. He can only hope what he knows won’t get him killed and, instead, will persuade Tom to do what he needs to regain his sanity.

He needs to get the wards and suppressors taken off of him and he needs to claim everything he can before Dumbledore finds out they were here. The suppressors have to go first so he ignores the goblins and turns to Bill.

“Bill, now that we know what else he put on me, can they be removed? Bill!”

Bill snaps out of whatever fog he’s in and turns to his little brother. His youngest brother, Merlin. His brain processes Harry’s question and he nods.

“Yes, I can do it with the assistance of a Healer — goblin or wizarding — to make sure it doesn’t harm you in any way.” He turns to his goblin colleague. “Jurragg, may we use a healing room?”

Jurragg nods. “Go ahead. I’ll send a Healer down to you. Come back here when you’re done. We’ll wait for the two of you.”

Bill takes Harry and leads him out of the main door since Harry can’t go into the back hallway door. Only goblins and Gringotts’ staff are even able to access the doors. Once the door shuts, Jurragg turns to Ragnar - the goblin who was put in charge of the Potter accounts when James Potter died.

“Ragnar, you need to bring the accountings and goings-on of the Potter accounts for the Potter Heir, along with the Heirship ring and that marriage contract.”

“Actually, Jurragg, you’ll need the Potter Lordship ring.”

“Why do you say that, Lady Malfoy? For all that the boy is Heir of, he is underage and unable to take a Lordship until the age of seventeen.”

Severus takes over and explains the Triwizard Tournament events.

“He was entered into a magically binding contract when he was fourteen. His magical guardian was there and did not object or even offer to get him out of it. Harry completed the contract thus, he is an adult wizard in the eyes of Magic. I do not know if the Ministry has been informed of this or even recognizes it but it is fact.”

Jurragg blinks but sends Ragnar to get the Lordship ring.

“Gringotts was not informed of this either. We should have been just as the Ministry should have been. So we could reach out to the boy and grant him his familial inheritances. Why would Mr. Dumbledore keep those from him?”

Narcissa speaks because she’d been thinking the exact same thing.

“To keep control. Of Harry or of Harry’s power. Harry is the Potter, Peverell, Gryffindor and Black Heir, you said it yourself. These Dumbledore would know; Harry’s father was close to Dumbledore. With James dead, all that power goes with him until Harry comes of age unless —”

“Unless Mr. Potter’s Magical Guardian takes it as Lord Regent. Surely, though, he would teach the boy what he needs to know. Raise him in the magical world but Mr. Potter has muggle guardians.”

“The less Harry knows about his power, the easier it is for Dumbledore to keep it. If he can keep it until Harry is seventeen, he can do everything in his power to keep it longer. Push Harry to defeat the Dark Lord and die in the battle afterward or a couple of years down the road once he’s married to Ginevra Weasley but without children. All his power would revert back to Albus.”

“If the marriage contract was signed after Mr. Potter completed his Magical contract, it is invalid and he could call it to be judged. The consequences would be decided by Magic and would depend upon the stipulations of the contract.”

“And if it was signed before?”

“If it was signed before, I — am unsure.”

“Did my cousin sign it?” Narcissa asks, a realization coming to her. Jurragg shakes his head. “Then it is invalid either way. For a Black to have a valid marriage contract, the Lord Black has to sign it. Especially the Black Heir. It’s stated in the Family Charter — a protection against diluting the blood. My sister was disowned for her marriage and breaking her marriage contract. Blood traitor or not, I doubt my cousin would have forced Harry into something. So if Harry didn’t sign it, Sirius wouldn’t have either.”

“Not that Lucius minded her breaking the contract, Narcissa, and neither did the Malfoy House. Lucius and Andromeda would have killed each other before the honeymoon period was over.”

Ragnar comes back with the Potter accountings, Harry’s marriage contract and the Lordship ring, as well as two rolled parchments. For all that goblins are hard to read, Ragnar looks ashamed as he places the items on Jurragg’s desk.

“Jurragg, I think I need to step down from managing the Potter accounts.”

“Why?”

“I went looking for the Potter Lordship ring and I found these.” Ragnar gestures to the two rolled up parchments. “James and Lily Potter’s wills. Sealed and never read. I remember — saying they needed to be read and I have a memory of after having them read but I don’t remember reading them.”

Severus leans forward, interested.

“I am a Master Legilimens. If you’d permit me, I can take a look and see what happened. I can also swear that I won’t look for anything other than that instance. I don’t need to know the workings of Gringotts. I leave that in your capable hands.”

Goblins were harder to Legilimize than other creatures bar werewolves, who were natural Occlumens. A Legilimens needed permission from a goblin to penetrate into their minds; their natural magics repulsed unwanted invasions.

Ragnar consents and Severus kneels in front of the goblin, keeping himself at eye level before delving into his mind. What he finds doesn’t really shock him at this point. Dumbledore had gone to Gringotts the night the Potter’s died and had sealed the Potters’ wills before Obliviating Ragnar, making him believe the wills had been read. Severus was willing to bet Harry had never supposed to have been sent to live with his muggle relatives; in fact, he was almost sure of it considering Lily’s relationship with Petunia.

He pulls out of the goblin’s mind and shakes his head to clear it before stumbling back into the chair Harry had vacated.

“Dumbledore came the night the Dark Lord killed the Potters. He had the wills sealed and messed with Goblin Ragnar’s memory, making him think that the wills had been read. Then I can only assume he took Harry to his muggle relatives and left him there.”

Silence fills the room as the goblins process this fact. Ragnar sighs shakily.

“Jurragg, I would really like to step down as the account manager. I don’t think I can do it knowing that. Not right now. I would rather go work the mines, if that’s alright?”

Jurragg nods.

“That’s fine, Ragnar. I’ll let the king know and find a replacement for you. You can go.”

Ragnar practically flees the room and silence descends again. It doesn’t last long before the door opens once more admitting Bill who is all but carrying Harry back into the room. Harry collapses in the chair and he is dangerously pale with a wild look in his eyes. Bill stands behind him and places a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder as Narcissa kneels in front of him. He doesn’t respond when she calls his name and she glares up at the redhead.

“What happened?”

“He’s just in a bit of shock. The influx of magic along with some memories that had been blocked from him was a little much.”

Narcissa immediately casts a warming charm on Harry and asks Severus for a calming potion which he fetches from his pocket. She holds it to Harry’s lips and urges him to drink, tipping it slowly down his throat. As coherence fades slowly back into his eyes, she smiles warmly at him.

“Are you okay, Harry?”

He nods slowly and blinks at her before his brows crease in between his eyes as he frowns.

“Narcissa?”

Harry looks around and looks at all of them in surprise.

“Mr. Prewitt brought you back to Jurragg’s office. I gave you one of Severus’ calming potions. Do you feel better?”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you, Narcissa.” He looks around again. “Where did Ragnar go?”

Narcissa sits back in her seat and Jurragg takes control of the conversation.

“Ragnar went to fetch the Potter accountings and the Lordship ring. He also found your parents’ wills. Wills that have never been read because Albus Dumbledore messed about in Ragnar’s memory and had them sealed.” He offers the box with the Lordship ring to Harry. “If you would put on the Potter Lordship ring, then we can unseal them and have them read right away. Or we can fit you with all of your Lord and Heirship rings before moving forward. Know this, Mr. Potter, anything we find today, the Goblins would be more than happy to present in court for you. And we offer you one of our Law Goblins to oversee any case, should you wish to try anyone for what they have committed against you.”

Harry opens the box and the ruby of the Potter ring stares up at him. Laid in a golden band, it makes the family’s connection to Gryffindor fairly obvious to anyone who’s attended Hogwarts. ‘Novissima autem inimica destruetur mors’ swirls around the gentle curve of the gem. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. Fitting, Harry thinks, for the Boy-Who-Lived. He slides the ring onto his left index finger and it automatically resizes to fit his smaller finger. Harry looks at Jurragg.

“Before we read my parents’ wills, can I take my other Lordships including the Gaunt and Slytherin Heirships, please, Jurragg.”

The goblin nods and summons another unnamed goblin to fetch the rings from their vaults.

“In the meantime, Lord Potter, shall we decide who will take over the Potter accounts?”

Harry nods.

“I don’t want to overwhelm any single goblin. I have no problem continuing to entrust you with the Black accounts. Can I ask that Griphook takes over the Potter accounts and then if you could tell me what you think of the goblins overseeing the Peverell and Gryffindor accounts?”

Griphook looks shocked as does Jurragg but it is Griphook who speaks.

“You remember me, Lord Potter?”

Harry smiles widely at him, nodding his head.

“Of course, Griphook. You took me to my vault the first time I came to Gringotts, my first day knowing I was a wizard. Of course, I remember you.”

“I would be honored to take over the Potter accounts, Lord Potter. Jurragg.”

“Very well. Unfortunately, no one is actively overseeing either the Gryffindor or Peverell vaults as neither family has any active investments or accountings. I can make recommendations to you for Goblins to take them over or, if Griphook is willing, he can oversee all three of those vaults. And, as the Black account manager, I can assist him until he and you feel completely confident. As he does not handle any other accounts, Lord Potter.”

Harry thinks that over for a moment before nodding again.

“That sounds perfect, Jurragg. Thank you for the suggestion. Griphook, is that alright with you?”

“Again, I would be honored, Lord Potter.”

* * *

By the time Harry has accepted his Lordships — the Black, Peverell and Gryffindor rings fusing with the Potter Lordship ring on his left index finger and the Gaunt and Slytherin Heir rings fusing together and shrinking to fit his right index finger — they don’t have time to go through his accountings before the scheduled will reading. Instead, Jurragg moves straight into Sirius’ will which is fairly straight forward. He leaves everything to Harry, effective immediately upon his death. Everything barring for the vault and cottage he leaves to Remus, the vaults and letters he leaves for both Narcissa and Andromeda as well as the vaults for Tonks and Draco.

It makes Harry smile to see Sirius mending bridges with his family even if it only happened after his death. None of the men point out the tears in Narcissa’s eyes. Jurragg doesn’t give them anything right then but reassures them that they will receive them after the official reading. Harry, he assures, will be the only one given access to the Black vaults besides those that Sirius had willed out. Nothing would be sent with Dumbledore, no matter what the man says.

Harry is given a copy of the accounting of the Potter vaults and a journal, spelled to open only for him, that links to a copy given to Griphook so they can communicate without owls or a Gringotts visit. Harry also gets a bank card which works just like a muggle debit card so he doesn’t have to return to Gringotts for money when he needs it. He thanks Jurragg and Griphook emphatically before they make sure his disguise is secured in place and Harry, Narcissa and Severus leave Bill in Jurragg’s office as they make their way to the Gringotts lobby.

Narcissa elects to remain until she’s summoned back for Sirius’ official will reading and Harry convinces them that Severus is more than skilled enough to accompany him down Knockturn Alley and he desperately needs an unTraceable wand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! Here's an update for you guys. I changed the pacing of the fic. So you may be confused and feel like you missed something! Don't worry! Just go back and re-read the last couple of chapters. Chapter 6 is new. Chapter 5 used to be chapter 6. Chapter 4 is now 4 and some of 5. *waves hands* Just go back and re-read to clarify what's happened! sorry! 
> 
> find me on tumblr @ agendertonks.

Narcissa isn’t noticed as Dumbledore arrives at Gringotts bank. With him comes a hoard of Weasleys, Harry’s mudblood, Remus Lupin and her sister’s child, Nymphadora Tonks. She knows that nothing was left for Dumbledore nor any of the Weasley’s, for all that they were members of the Order with Sirius. She has no doubt that they’d abused her cousin over the last year; she would have to see if Harry would talk about him later. She hovers behind their group and the only one who notices her as they approach Jurragg’s office is Remus Lupin. Werewolf, she’s reminded as his eyes catch hers over his shoulder. Narcissa wonders if he can smell Harry on her. She only nods politely and follows them into the office.

She takes her seat near the back, ignoring the glances she gets even if she catalogs them. The only ones who look openly disgusted or hostile at her presence are Dumbledore, Arthur and Molly Weasley and their daughter. The Weasley boy who’s her son’s age looks contemplative and the mudblood looks curious. Lupin and Tonks look mostly solemn and not at all like she even deserves their contemplation. Which is fine. They’re here to mourn Sirius but she does wonder what they know of Harry’s plan though she doubts any of them know he’s currently at Malfoy Manor.

Jurragg calls them all to silence.

“We are here today to mark the passing of a Lord of a Noble and Ancient House. Once the reading begins, you cannot leave. You may not take anything that has been bequeathed to someone else. If said recipient is not here, they shall receive an owl informing them that they must collect their bequeathments from myself at a later time. These are Sirius Orion’s wishes and the Goblins shall carry them out:

> “I, Sirius Orion Black, being of sane mind and clear conscious do put in ink my Last Wishes.
> 
> “To my oldest friend, Remus Lupin, I leave Marauder’s Cottage and the contents of Vault 113. Remus, I don’t know why James didn’t leave you the same. You were our closest friend and we would have always provided for you if you could accept it. I’d forgiven you a long time ago for everything that happened in the last year of the war. I can only hope that you could forgive me as well. I hope it’s a long time before the last Marauder joins me and James. He and Lily’ll take care of me on the other side. You just take care of that pup of ours, you hear? Harry needs someone, Remus. Don’t distance yourself from him.
> 
> “To my cousins, Andromeda Tonks nee Black and Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, I leave the contents of Vaults 114 and 115, respectively. Andy, inside your Vault is your Dowry and all the Black properties and monies that should have always been yours along with the paperwork signed in my blood claiming you as a Black once more. You may not want to sign them but they’re there for you.
> 
> “Cissa, you have always been a Black for all that you married Malfoy. We haven’t been as close as we once were and I know that is my fault. I rallied against all of my parent’s teachings because I just couldn’t convince myself to follow in their footsteps. I miss our relationship and our friendship. I should have reached out to you after I escaped Azkaban but — I am unsure of how you would have reacted. Vault 115 has some of my mother’s jewelry, if you wish it, as well as some letters. Read them, please.
> 
> “To your children, Nymphadora Tonks and Draco Malfoy, I leave the contents of Vaults 116 to be split between them equally. Tonks, there is paperwork for you as well, bringing you into the Black family. I wish I were there to welcome you to the family officially, cousin.
> 
> “Young Malfoy, I’m afraid I don’t know you as well as family should. In fact, I don’t know you at all beyond what my godson has told me about you. Don’t worry, not all of it is as bad as you are probably imagining. There are things in the vault for you, as well. I hear you have a knack for Transfiguration, little cousin. I hope what you find can guide you to be a better man than your father is. I know it’s hard, accepting that your parents aren’t always the role models we make them out to be as children. He loves you and that should be enough. Just — be better.
> 
> “To my beloved godson, Harry Potter. Prongslet, pup. You are the son of my heart and nothing pains me more than having missed watching you grow up. I have been so blessed to get to know you in the last almost two years, even if I only watched you for the first year. You are brilliant, kiddo, and I know you’ll do great things. To you, Harry, I leave the title of Lord Black as well as any holdings, vaults and properties under the Black name. Effective immediately upon the reading of these Wishes, all properties in the Black name are to be sealed and only your new Lord Black, Harry James Potter-Black can open them. So mote it be.”

There’s a flash of magic that binds Sirius’ Last Wish and the look on Dumbledore’s face tells Narcissa he knows they no longer have access to the Black Townhouse. Clever, Sirius.

> “To Albus Dumbledore, I leave you nothing. Not money, not praise, not thanks. You have done nothing for me and nothing to defend me since the Dark Lord’s defeat in ‘81. You who bound Peter Pettigrew in his Secret Keeper position. You who have been Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot for years and in a position to demand a trial, especially for the Lord of a Noble and Ancient House. You who could have proven my innocence and gained me my freedom and you who has done nothing. I leave you nothing and I hope you are furious about it. You lose, old man. I have had the last word. I hope you rot.”

The silence that fills Jurragg’s office is heavy and stunned, Narcissa not excluded. She hadn’t expected that of her cousin. Even though Harry’d told her that Sirius had taught him Wizarding customs and traditions, she hadn’t thought he would so fervently deny Dumbledore. She’s filled with pride and it takes all of her upbringing not to grin. Dumbledore looks liable to burst at any second. The elder Weasleys and the girl look furious. Tonks looks shocked; Lupin looks resigned. Harry’s friends look pleased for a brief second before confusion covers their faces. Narcissa will have to keep an eye on those two and ask Harry about them. Draco’s told her they’re close but often have fights that fall apart. She wonders if the trio could be closer than they appear on the outside.

Dumbledore seems to regain his senses.

“Thank you, Jurragg. I can take Harry his copy of the will and his Summons for collection if you would like to show Mr. Lupin, Ms. Tonks and Mrs. Malfoy to their Vaults?”

“It’s Lady Malfoy, Mr. Dumbledore. And I’m sure you heard, as I did, my cousin’s wishes as well as the Goblin Jurragg’s warning at the beginning. It is the duty of the Goblins of Gringotts to inform those who are not here. You cannot take anything to Mr. Potter. He will have to come himself to collect. The Goblins won’t allow anything else.”

Narcissa stands tall from her seat and she is well aware that they’re all looking at her. And she knows she’s right and that Jurragg will back her up because there’s no way he’s going to allow that to happen. Not with how Harry’s Gringotts’ mail had been redirected for the past fifteen years. Jurragg nods.

“If you were not bequeathed anything, I must ask you to step out of my office and wait in the lobby. I will show those who received bequeathments to their Vaults.”

The Goblin shuffles Dumbledore and the Weasleys out of his office before turning to those who were left.

“Mx. Tonks, I ask that you let us reach out to your mother; and, Lady Malfoy, the same for your son.”

“And Harry?”

Jurragg nods.

“We will also reach out to the new Lord Black.”

Remus shakes his head.

“He should have been here; he would have wanted to be here.”

Narcissa looks at Jurragg, who summons a Goblin to take Tonks down to the vault Sirius had left them.

“Mx. Tonks, if you would follow Griphook. He will take you to your vault.”

Tonks hesitates, only following after getting a vague nod from Remus who is still looking at Narcissa. Smart man. Once the door closes behind Tonks, Lupin addresses her.

“Forgive my bluntness, Lady Malfoy, but what is it that you know?”

She considers him with a blank face and finds only what she’s looking for: a true concern for Harry.

“Your nephew — godson or whatever you consider Harry Potter — appeared at my home last night. He was here earlier and had my cousin’s wishes read in private before resealing them and heading back to Malfoy Manor to avoid Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Remus slumps in relief.

“Good. Good. How is he? I am worried about him, being at his relatives is never good for him but is he safe at your house?”

“Severus is with him right now.”

Remus blinks.

“Severus hates him.”

“They seem to have come to an understanding.”

“In less than twenty-four hours?”

“Do you doubt Harry’s ability to inspire loyalty?”

“No, I just imagined Severus might be able to out stubborn him.”

“Severus is more flexible than you give him credit for, Mr. Lupin. Even regarding Harry. However, if it would make you feel more positively about having Harry in my home, you may return to Malfoy Manor with me and see his wellbeing for yourself.”


End file.
